three days

two

i stare out my window, why am i here? numerous questions filled my pesky mind, and all that random boy. chris, has been doing was eating my food and lounging around. he hasn't made an actual conversation with me since the first night i woke up in this palace. besides the typical good morning's and nights.

it was odd here, especially when our dining table would be filled with food breakfast, lunch, and dinner without us doing anything. there was always stocked food in the fridge as well as cabinets, i didn't complain. nor did he, while exploring, i found an exercise room where i did cardio and weightlifting. since it was the only way i'd ever keep myself in shape because of us two being caged up in this place. it was beautiful, don't get me wrong, but knowing that there's a world out there i haven't seen.

i know nothing of it. i can only gaze from afar, it was beyond frustrating. i could open windows and doors, but the invisible barrier just wouldn't budge. it was now chris' second night here, i decide to go downstairs and finally talk to chris, i mean, what else could i do? standing up from my plush pillow chair, i enter the hallway.

i never grew tired of the view, it was always so enchanting. i see him from afar, casually painting on a very large canvas. large enough to fit most of the wall, which was huge. he was shirtless as usual.

"you know i should really buy you a shirt,"

he turns his head to my attention, a smile tugging at his lips. i smile wide, he stops momentarily from painting, but gets back to it. i stare at his art work, it was made up of sad colors, almost as if he were painting a girl.

"what are you painting?"

i could see his image falter from my question, i realize that this must have been personal. i quickly add on.

"it's alright if you don't want to tell me, i don't mean to intrude on anythi-"

"it's alright."

he chuckles at my carefulness around others. i crack an apologetic smile, that he accepts happily.

"i'm painting my mother before she killed herself, she had depression but the thing is that she loved to paint. she painted day and night, many murals of dark colors. my mother was only 17 when she had me, i had hit her hard."

i feel my smile drop, staying quiet, as does he. the only sound was his brush moving across the canvas. he stopped, backing up to see the entire thing. my eyes scanned the painting.

"wow."

i felt my tongue go dry from having it open for so long.

he placed his paint brush down, and just left the room. i stared a little bit longer, seeing the outline of the teenage girl that was his mother.

zelly

i closed my eyes, shaking my head. not again.

zelly

"get out of my head!"

i scream in pain, my head throbbed.

zelly
zelly
zelly
hear me zelly

i hear running footsteps besides me, muscular hands holding onto me. i flinch, looking up, chris stood above. concern over his face, i look down to my hands, i realize i've been crying. i try standing up, my knees scraped up. what the hell is happening to me?

tiredly, i laid back on our couch. i feel him pick up my arm, forcing my eyes open, he has a look of confusion.

"what's wr-"

"who did this to you?"

i look down to my forearm, a burned handprint into my skin. it was a handprint of a woman, the fingers slim but sharp. i touch it to see if it was still fresh, to my wincing self, it was. i stand up, going upstairs and to my bathroom to wash it. chris followed in after.

"zelly, there's something wrong going on here. something dangerous."

he stood beside my doorway, as i wrapped gauze around my burnt flesh. i don't wince in pain, but shrug off the burning sensation. i stare at him through my mirror.

"you think i don't know that?"

i sighed, walking past him, i sit on my balcony. the barrier still in place but only on the railing.

"what are we going to do?"

i fiddled with my fingers, all we could do was pass time.

"i don't know honestly, all we can do is just pass time."

i could feel him frown at my words, only to leave me alone in the darkness.